


Alone Keeps Me Safe.

by igarthedher



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post Reichenbach, suuuper suuper sad guys sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igarthedher/pseuds/igarthedher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is done waiting for his friend to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Keeps Me Safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for this one. I cried while typing it.

*Sherlock's POV*

 

I crouched beneath the tree, my dark coat shrouding me from veiw of anyone who happened across the tree. I could see him, walking stiffly towards the marble grave as he did each morning. His shoulders were shaking; he was crying. An invisible hand reached into my chest, grabbed my heart and squeezed it tightly. I was causing him pain. I longed to run out from my hiding spot beneath the vegetation and embrace my partner, to tell him everything was fine, to stroke his hair and console him. But I could not. My survival had to remain a secret, from everyone, including him. Escpecially him.

Because when I was alone, no harm would come to him. When I was alone, he would not ben in danger of dying at my hand nearly every day. When I was alone, he was safe.

But when I was alone, he was broken. When I was alone, he was empty. When I was alone, there was nothing in his life to fill the emptiness I had left. When I was alone, so was he.

His voice had broke when he pleaded with me that day on the phone. I could hear the sadness and disbelief he felt as he stared up at me, ready to jump. I knew I was hurting him, and it sent aching cracks through my cold, slow beating heart to do so, yet I continued to do it. With every word I spoke, every fault line that was sent up my chest, I was breaking him. Shattering him. Leaving him.

He stopped before the grave, meaning to kneel, but weakly falling to his knees. He let out a strangled cry that oozed dispair and sent a wave of guilt into my chest, crashing roughly and freezing my lungs. Ice crept up my throat and choked me. 

He reached out and placed a shaking hand on top of the gravestone. He let it linger there for a minute or two before dropping it limply back to his side. And he simply sat there, silent, almost emotionless, and stared. He watched the grave, barely blinking, as if expecting me to erupt from the ground. 

After another few minutes, he peeled his eyes away from the stone and rose to his feet once more. His shoulders were still, his eyes dry. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a single white lily, and placed it gently on the ground. 

"Goodbye, Sherlock," He whispered, and walked away.

He did not come back the next day. I waited for him at the tree, as I did every day, but my companion did not arrive. 

So when I climbed the hill the following morning, my body froze as I saw that he was once again, nowhere to be seen.

I waited at that tree everyday for him. He did not show.

One day, a new tombstone appeared in the cemetary, not far from mine. Curious, I sneaked over to the grave, wondering whose murder I had missed out on in my absence. My breath caught in my throat as I read the name engraved in the stone.

The marble grave beside mine belonged to John Watson.


End file.
